


whatever differences our lives have been, we together make a limb

by invictaria



Series: red right ankle [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Captain America AU, Captain America: The First Avenger, Liam as Steve Rogers, Liam has to stay back, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre Serum Liam, Undisclosed Feelings, Zayn as James Bucky Barnes, Zayn is being shipped to France, bed sharing, stucky au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invictaria/pseuds/invictaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thousands of young men called to arms against their wishes, and Liam’s the one whose heart is breaking because he has to stay safe, while Zayn has to go.</p><p>(Captain America!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever differences our lives have been, we together make a limb

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry???? It's set like it's the beginning of Captain America: The First Avenger

“You should just learn when to _stop_ , you know. One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed in a desert alley, if you keep up with this attitude.”

Zayn tries to keep his voice even, but Liam can tell he’s upset by the way his brows keep furrowing and his mouth’s gone all tight, lips pressed in a thin line.

He’s got his uniform on, all buttoned up and freshly ironed, fitting on his lithe shoulders like a fucking glove, and he’s actually, painfully beautiful. Normally, Liam would enjoy the view with a little more appreciation, but right now he has to keep ice on one eye while the other burns from something dangerously close to tears, so he thinks his lack of enthusiasm is entirely justified.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he mumbles through his teeth, but it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, and Zayn’s frown deepens.

“I’m not asking for some bullshit excuse, I’m asking you to be careful. I’m asking you to use your brain. Can you do that for me? Since clearly you won’t do it for yourself, you could at least do it for me. I leave in a week, and this crazy shit messes with my head, okay? I can’t be on a fucking battlefield, trying to stay alive, if I’m wondering if _you_ ’re the one who’s in danger _here_. _Please_ , Liam.”

_I leave in a week._

There’s a plea in Zayn’s words that goes beyond that last, explicit _please_. There’s a lifetime of caring and worring and knowing how Liam’s head works, mostly, because those words rip right through him like a bullet, hot and unforgiving and devastating in their simplicity, grounding him in the worst possible way.

_I leave in a week._

It’s not like Liam can exactly forget it.

Since Pearl Harbor’s attack, since President Roosevelt declared war to the Axis, maybe even before that, Liam knew this moment would come, probably sooner than later.

Everybody in the country knew _that_ , everybody talked about war and heroes and duties: they’re the United States of America. They’re the good ones. The ones that protect freedom and democracy to the cost of their own lives, because _life_ is all about freedom and democracy. In a certain way, the batterfield is where they belong, where they’ve been the greater version of themselves.

Liam’s been waiting for the call for months, fear and trepidation so intimately intertwined that he can’t say which one dominated the other, but apparently their army isn’t that desperate yet, because it never came. And whenever Liam tries to enlist, he gets rejected. It stings every single time, seeing that bright, red ‘ _unsuitable_ ’ mark stamped on his paperwork, the equivalent of a big, fat _you’re not good enough_ thrown in his face with the same grace of a slap. But he's tried to be patient, to say to himself _someday things are going to change_.

Then Zayn got the call. And now seven days is all they’ve left.

Liam can’t stop counting seconds and minutes and hours in his head, numbers running behind his eyes when he’s working, when he’s lying in bed, when he’s drinking a beer, when he’s watching a movie, when he’s chatting with some girl at the market, when he’s pissing and when he’s crying in front of the mirror, _numbernumbersnumbers_ all over the place that keep getting smaller and smaller, because the distance between _now_ and _then_ is shortening inexorabily and Liam doesn’t know how to cope.

It’s not like Liam can say _please don’t go, please, don’t leave me behind._

“I got rejected again. And this jerk started to take the piss, calling me a sissy. I just wanted him to stop talking, but I guess I got a bit carried away.”

Liam lowers the icebag and fixes his gaze on the floor, embarassed and maybe a little humiliated by his own admission of weakness, feeling proper silly for it, too, because it’s stupid and childish to feel that way now, when his entire relationship with Zayn has been defined by Liam’s inability to stand up for himself.

Zayn befriended him when no one would even come close to him, afraid of catching something terrible for the perpetually-sick kid, and since then he fought all Liam’s battles for him, punching the bullies who tormented him, carrying his mother’s casket the day of her funeral and working his ass off to pay for his medications and whatever Liam wanted or needed, like it was Zayn’s job to be sure that Liam was taken care of to the best of their possibilities.

Zayn remained in the army even after his one year’s service came to an end, because they needed the money and Liam coudn’t work and he was willing to take the chance on faith, if that meant having something on the table for every meal and more blankets to keep them warm during the long winter nights. And now he has to go to war, because there’s no more time to joke around and Hitler’ coming for them, but mostly because Liam’s neediness put him right on the line of fire.

Zayn’s the one home Liam has, and Liam’s losing him with every passing moment.

“I’m sorry, babe. I know how much you-…,” says Zayn, carefully approaching him, esitating on what to say next. It’s painfully obvious there’s no way for Zayn to end that sentence without upsetting Liam more, so he abrutly changes direction, grabbing Liam’s chin and forcing him to lift his gaze. “Hey. He was just a jerk, okay? A piece of crap. Being a soldier for his country is probably as good as it gets for him, while you’re meant for something far greater than a stupid war. Don’t let it mess with your head.”

He’s rubbing his thumb against Liam’s cheek, slow and attentive, and his eyes are fierce, so bright they resemble amber. Liam’s so in love with him he feels sick, heart beating like a drum somewhere around his throat.

Then, suddenly, Zayn gets _closecloseclose_ , soft lips pressing the lightest, chastest kiss on Liam’s bruised eyelid, sending a long, paralyzing shiver along Liam’s spine.

“Besides, if they could measure your heart, you’d win this war alone.”

*

The funny thing is, if they could actually measure one’s heart, Liam’d _definitely_ be in the high ranks of the army by now and not at home, watching the ceiling, trying to come up with a plan to sneak his way through the medical examination.

It’s always been like this, his body getting in the way of everything Liam’s ever wanted.

He was born too soon, too eager to get out of his mother’s womb and start living, and his organs weren’t ready, never in tune with his brain from the very beginning: his lungs didn’t expand much, his heart didn’t pump enough oxygen inside his veins, his kidneys almost failed him, until one of them decided to start working, and since then Liam hung to life with the same stubborn fierceness of a captain that doesn’t abandon his sinking ship.

The result of twenty years of struggles is a five feet, four inches _cage_ , made of barely one hundred-ten pounds of _flesh_ and _bones_ : not a man’s body, and definitely not a soldier’s body. A boy, at most. And a weak, malnourished one, for that.

The real irony probably lays in the fact that living in such a poor excuse of a body is exactly the reason behind Liam’s crave for justice, order and freedom.

Because if Liam’d been a regular bloke, built like a brick wall and healty as a horse, he’s not sure he’d undestand how horrible and degrading it is to feel powerless and drained and afraid and cornered. How wrong it is to make people feel that way, enjoying every bit of terror and pain inflicted to another human being like it’s some kind of prize. How taking a bullet for the right cause is a lot less scary than watching a disease eat alive someone you love.

He’s not sure he’d care about protecting the ones who can’t protect themselves because they lack of strength, but not of soul.

He’s not sure he’d know that power is not about crushing people who think and live differenty, but about creating a safe place for everyone to just be whatever they want to be, whenever they want to be it.

All these thing, Liam has learned by being on the other side of the barricade his entire life, by being poor and sick and a lightweight, and they’re everything that ignites his will everytime he tries to enlist, but also everything that keeps him grounded where he is.

_I want to do good. I want to fight. No one should ever feel helpless, I want to change that. I want to keep people safe. I want to fight. I’m not afraid. I want to fight._

_Really, kid? I’m doing you a favor, you wouldn’t last a day out there, you know? Next!_

Thousands of young men called to arms against their wishes, and Liam’s the one whose heart is breaking because he has to stay safe.

And then there’s Zayn.

Zayn never wanted to be a soldier.

He’s got the strength, the spead and the reflexes, the sharp mind and the fortitude to be so much more than a simple soldier, maybe to be the greatest general the US Army has ever seen, but he just doesn’t _want_ to.

There’s an untouchable softness inside him that prevents him from enjoying the role of warrior (even if that warrior is actually on the right side, fighting for the good cause) and brings him to despise violence with every cell of his being.

In Zayn’s eyes, there’s nothing that justifies a display of bestiality, not when there’s a right and wrong way to act, and clearly the right one hardly needs an action of brutal force to present itself. The only reason he throws a punch around, every now and then, is to defend Liam whenever some dickhead tries to mess with him - and Liam’s always been Zayn’s exception, the one reason to compromise with himself, so maybe it doesn’t exactly count.

Also, there’s something in the strictness of context, in the repression of the selfhood, necessary for building a solid group on the battlefields, that doesn’t fit him quite right.

It’s not like Zayn’s some sort of rebel, someone who messes with rules and authorities just to be a pain in the ass, but he’s definitely a bit of an anarchic. In a quiet, measured way, because Zayn is the quietest, most polite person on the planet when he wants to be, but an anarchic nonetheless: he finds it extremely difficult to bow his back and nod his head, no question asked, to people he doesn’t agree with, and that means it can be hard to deal with him, because in those cases, Zayn simply refuses to obey, silent and unwavering like a marble statue, and insubordination is hardly considered a quality on demand in an army.

And still, even at those conditions, even if Liam’s the one who wants to fight and craves for the order and camaraderie army represents, even if Zayn’s the one who always thinks outside the box and feels sick whenever they so much as see a fish struggling in a net, Zayn’s going to be shipped to France in a week, and Liam’s never even good enough to be a private.

Liam can’t think about it, but at the same time he can’t stop thinking about it, because suddenly his whole existance is reduced to this simple fact and his brain keeps smacking him in the face with this new found knowledge.

One week. One week and then who the fuck knows.

Liam can’t even remember how life was before Zayn. Lonely, probably. Empty. Cold. It was so long ago it feels like another lifetime.

Liam can’t imagine how life could be without him. Zayn is every profile, every color, every spark in his memory, every light in his mind. Every single dream Liam ever dreamed, Zayn was right there, next to him.

But war is so much bigger than all of them, and there’s no guarantees.

_If only I could follow you._

_If only I could be equal to you._

_If only I could stick to your side until my very last day._

_Then, I wouldn’t care about anything else._

Liam’s afraid, so afraid that sometimes it feels like he’s chocking on thin air. And Zayn’s afraid too, Liam knows that. Not because he said something, because Zayn’d never admit something like that, but because he’s spends his nights chainsmoking through at least two packs of cigarettes, pacing in the kitchen with all the lights turned off, until Liam’s room reeks with tobacco and tar, too, and the one thing Liam wants to do is cry in his pillow.

Thousands of young men called to arms against their wishes, and Liam’s the one whose heart is breaking because he has to stay safe, while Zayn has to go.

*

“Why are you still awake?”

The springs of Liam’s bed squeak weakly under Zayn’s weight, when he lies beside Liam.

It’s a tight fit, even if Zayn’s thin and Liam barely takes up any space, because it’s still a twin size mattress and they’re not twelve anymore, but Liam likes it nonetheless, finding comfort in the annulment of distance between their bodies, the profile of Zayn’s pointy elbows pressed against his ribs while Liam’s own knee follows the curve of Zayn’s hipbone.

They still fit. They always fit.

“I don’t know.” _Liar_. “Why are _you_ still awake?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies, a hint of humor in his voice as he tilts his head slightly to the left, towards the small window and its dirty glasses. In backlight, Liam can see the relaxed line of his forehead, the sharp jut of his cheekbones, the pearly blaze of his teeth as he smiles, and wonders if this is the last time they get to share such an intimate, domestic moment.

“You’re a goddam liar, you know that?”

Zayn’s nose scrunches up, and he’s smiling with his whole face. Liam wants to kiss him until his mouth is a giant bruise.

“Takes one to know one, you punk.”

They stay in silence for a bit, but it’s not tense, nor awkward. They’re sharing it, not enduring it. It’s almost nice, after the day they had.

“I’m sorry about what I said this afternoon. I’m not your mother, and I have no right to tell you what you can or can’t do. And I shouldn’t have used my impending departure as a bargaining chip, that wasn’t fair.”

Zayn’s not looking at him, but his voice is firm, serious, like he’s trying to make a point.

He’s never been too good at apologizing, probably the only moments in his life when he's actually clumsy. But he’s always the first one to say _sorry_ , even when it’s not his fault, even when it’s no one’s fault. _I hate when you look at me like I disappointed you, or like you’re mad at me. No argument is worth that kind of look_ , he explained one time.

“That’s what’s keeping you up?” Liam’s asks softly, fingers sneaking _upupup_ , right to Zayn’s hair, petting him and forcing him to turn on his side at the same time. Zayn does so without a protest, docile and sweet under his hands, and this is the side of him that Liam loves the most, the vulnerable one, because he’s the only one who’s allowed to see it.

“Maybe. I don’t want us to fight. I don’t want this kind of shit to be the one thing you’ll think about when I’m away. I want you to think about happy things, funny moments. I don’t want to make you sad.”

_Too bad, because you just stabbed me in the chest._

“You shouldn’t worry about me all the time. I can manage on my own, you know? You should worry about yourself. I need you to worry about yourself.” _I need you to stay alive out there._

There’s a lump in his throat that Liam finds incredibly hard to overcome. It feels like munching an handful of broken glass. He keeps petting Zayn’s head, but the gesture assumed a mechanical quality, like Liam doesn’t really mean to do that, like he’s still moving just for inertia.

How is he supposed to react? Is he supposed to tell the truth? Is he supposed to say _I’m already sad because there’s nothing I can do to keep you right here with me and the thought of you out there makes me sick to my stomach_? Is he supposed to say _I love you so much that I can’t imagine what I’m supposed to be when you’re not around_? Is he supposed to say _I’m the one who should be sorry, because I think about you in ways I shouldn’t and you have no idea what it does to me just looking at you face_? Is he supposed to say _I’m the one who should apologize, because sometimes I think about what our lives would be like if I was a girl, and how easy would it be to love you properly then, without hurting you in the meanwhile?_

Zayn curls up at his side, enveloping Liam in his arms and hiding his face against the narrow ribage of his friend, nose smushed against Liam’s sternum as he breathes deeply, waiting for his hold to be reciprocated.

“I know you can manage on your own. I always knew you could, despite everything. But it feels nice to have someone to care about, you know? It gives a purpose to life. And, you know, I’ve got you. Does that bother you?”

_It’s all I ever dreamed about._

“You’re such a sap… Of couse it doesn’t bother me.” _I feel the same, I feel the same and more. I feel like you’re the single most important thing in my entire life._

The weight of all the things Liam can’t say threatens to overpower him.

“Well, that’s a relief. I wasn’t sure I could stop, anyway,” he murmurs against Liam’s shirt, the slow rumble of his laugh reverberating inside Liam’s chest as Zayn squirms, looking for his embrace with the same stubborn vehemence of a puppy.

Liam then goes to hold his head, arms crossing over Zayn’s nape as he presses his cheek against Zayn’s naked scalp. The buzzcut is already growing back and it itches Liam’s skin, but he doesn’t really care, because being so close is intoxicating and Liam can’t feel much more than _Zayn_ all around him.

“I sure hope you never do.”

“Never. ‘Til the end of the line, Li. I mean it.”

It squeezes Liam’s heart, to listen to those words.

_‘Til the end of the line._

How many times did they say it? How many times did they meant it, when things got tough? An entire lifetime of being right next to each other is enclosed in that bunch of syllabes: they always sounded like the most sacred prayer, but now they feel dangerously close to a curse.

“I’m so sorry I can’t come with you. I’m sorry I’m not healty enough to pass that freacking medical examination, you know? I promise I’ll keep trying even when _you…-_ I promise I’ll keep trying.” _I’m sorry I can’t be with you ‘til the end of the line._

There’s real sorrow in Liam’s voice, and his hold on Zayn’s head tightens almost on reflex, like he’s trying to express how much he means those words even with his body.

_Is this what it feels like to let down the one person who’s your entire world? Like bleeding your whole heart out without a break, to the point you feel completely spent, except for the fact you never really get numb to the pain? Is this what’s happening right now?_

“I already told, there must be a reason If you’re not passing that damned examination, and that’s because you’re meant for some-”

_Oh my god, not again._

“-thing far greater than a stupid war. Yeah, yeah, I get it, you said so way too many times, now,” Liam growls, pressing his chin against Zayn’s skull with maybe a little too much force.

“I wish you could believe me, then,” hisses Zayn then, a pout evident in his voice. He squeezes Liam’s waist with new force, pressing himself harder against Liam’s skinny thighs, making a wave of warmness rise to his neck and face.

“I wish you could stop saying that. It makes me feel like a pathetic kid who needs to be coddled.”  

“If you could just see yourself the way I see you, you wouldn’t say such a big load of bullshit.”

And it’s the way Zayn says it, _the way I see you,_ that gets to Liam the most. It’s the matter-of-fact tone he uses, not as if he’s trying to patronize him or play some joke, but like he’s stating a fact no less predictable than _fire burns_ or _the sky is blue_. Because Zayn’s not trying to _impress_ Liam, he’s not just absolving his best friend’s duties making Liam feel better about himself, Zayn’s _actually_ annoyed, like Liam’s being ridiculous and acting dumb on purpose, like there’s _no way_ he can’t know how incredible he is, how he’s really meant for something greater than being some private in such a messy war who’s never been _their_ war to begin with.

And it’s just _so nice_ to feel appreciated like that, with no further motive except being who he is, especially after the day Liam’s had, especially when everything inside him is fear and restlessness and longing for a simple life he could never have, no matter the circumstances.

Especially when Zayn is all over him, in Liam’s bed, smelling like smoke and the cheap cologne he insists on buying and _home_ , holding him like there’s no place he’d rather be, like maybe Liam’s not the only one to feel the way he feels.

_How am I supposed to quit you if no one, no one in the entire universe can even compare to you._

They stay silent for a bit, and then:

“Thank you.”

Liam should probably say more, but he doesn’t know what to add, what words to use that wouldn’t ruin the perfect equilibrium of this fragile moment, so he keeps quiet.

“You’re welcome, you donut. Can we sleep now? I feel sleepy, and you’re so warm. We should sleep, Leeyum. Sleep is great.”

  
Zayn’s voice is a bit slurred, like he’s already half asleep. Liam’s not really surprised, since Zayn always had the astonishing ability to fall asleep suddenly and unexpectedly in the most random places; besides, there’s the fact that’s been days since he’s gone through the night without waking up at least a couple of times.

Zayn’s ear is resting right over Liam’s heart, and his breath is soft against Liam’s ribcage, and in that moment everything feels miraculously silent, real and safe and quiet, mostly quiet, but in the good way.

“You’re my hero, please come back home in one piece, ok? I need you to come back home in one piece.”

Liam can feel tears pressing in the corner of his eyes, but he ignores them stubbornly. He presses a kiss, small and chaste and dry, to Zayn’s temple, and then he closes his eyes, imposing himself to sleep as well.

**Author's Note:**

> well, I don't really know what to say. I watched both Captain America movies only recently, and since the very beginning I could see so clearly a Stucky/Ziam AU (sadly for me, no one seems to see that with the same clarity, since I couldn't find anything similar :°( ). Then Zayn broke my heart leaving the band, and I needed a way to let the angst go? I don't know? I just needed something sad but also full of love and mutual adoration, so there it is.
> 
> I apologize for my maaaany mistakes, but I've no beta and writing is mostly a way to improve my poor english! :)
> 
> I plan to add future installments, but I don't know how or when.
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3 (but mostly I hope to spark in someone way more talented than me the crave for some more Stucky/Ziam AU, I HAVE TO ADMIT IT)
> 
> Ps: i joined tumblr recently, if anyone is interested in saying Hi :) [ there you go! ](http://invictaria.tumblr.com)


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